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This little person who depends on me and loves me unconditionally.
"Morgan," I call softly, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Time to wake up, sweetheart."
She stirs, her little nose scrunching up adorably. "Mommy," she mumbles, burrowing deeper into her blankets.
I can’t help but chuckle as I run my hand through her tangled curls. "Come on, sleepyhead. You’ve got to get ready for school."
One eye cracks open. "Is it really morning?"
“I’m afraid so, baby. But guess what? Mommy is off for two whole weeks, starting today!” That gets her attention.
Both eyes shoot open wide. "Really? You promise?"
"Cross my heart," I say, making the motion over the left side of my chest. "Now, let's get you up and ready."
With Morgan out of bed, I head to the kitchen to start her breakfast.
Just one more hour, I remind myself. One more hour and then I can crash.
But first, I have a little girl to feed and take to school.
"Did you grab your lunch bag off the counter?" I ask over my shoulder as Morgan, with way more force than is necessary, launches her book bag across the backseat and climbs up into her booster seat.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.
If there is one thing I can say about my girl, it’s that she has a flair for the dramatics. Everything she does is animated beyond belief.
"Uh…" Morgan lifts her head, aggressively shoving her wild blonde curls out of her face.
Frustrated, she reaches across the seat, yanks her bag into her lap, unzips the zip, looks inside, and groans.
"Aw, drab," she complains, making me giggle.
“I’m going to take that as a no.” Before I can tell her to stay put, I’ll go back inside and grab it, she spins to the side — with all the dramatics she can muster before eight o'clock on a Monday morning — and hops out of her seat to run back inside.
“Good gracious.” I can’t help but laugh.
I swear, the child would forget her head if it wasn't attached. Morgan Michelle Hardy is not a fan of the morning hustle.
A few minutes later, the storm door slams and out comes Morgan, barreling down the front steps with her lunch bag and a different pair of shoes in her hands.
This girl.
"What's with the shoe change?" I ask, watching through the rearview as she climbs back inside the car, making quick work of her seatbelt.
"We're playing kickball at recess today.”
Slinging my arm across the passenger seat, I twist in my seat and watch out the back window as I back out of the driveway, my lips twitching at Morgan roughly shoving her foot into her athletic shoes.
“Ah… Gotcha,” I reply, guessing that makes enough sense as I put the car in drive.
“Do you think Daddy will show up this time?” I flick my eyes to the rearview mirror and see the hope in Morgan’s eyes.
My heart clenches painfully in my chest. “I don't know, sweetie.” It kills me that I can’t promise that her father will show up this weekend. Technically, it’s not his scheduled weekend with her, but when he bailed on her last weekend, he begged to swap. I reluctantly agreed.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“Morgan—” I hate that I don’t know what to say to make things better.
